


With Falling

by fartherfaster



Series: This Hungry Work [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blasphemy, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3168680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fartherfaster/pseuds/fartherfaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve traces smooth circles into the sweeping hollows of her hips while Bucky bites prayers into the slope of her neck, mumbles sweetness into her hair, takes the shell of her ear so gingerly between his teeth and tells her in worship she’s being so, so good.<br/>-<br/>The filthy coda to In Ways We Did Not Expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenmidalah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenmidalah/gifts).



> For queenmidalah, who requested Steve/Bucky/Jemma with no specifications, wherewith my brain immediately went down the drain. This piece stands perfectly on its own, however; your request inspired me, and there is a full verse, both prequel (hence why this is the coda) and sequel, due to arrive shortly. 
> 
> This is literal blasphemy, I'm pretty sure.

_Because you have loved me,_  
_moon and sunset_  
_stars and flowers_  
_gold crescendo and silver muting._

_Because you have loved me,_  
_where dwells the breath_  
_of all persisting stars._

      - e. e. cummings, If I Believe

 

_Drain the whole sea,_  
_get something shiny,_  
_something meaty for the main course._  
_That’s a fine-lookin’ high horse._  
_What you got in the stable?_  
_We’ve a lot of starving faithful._

_That looks tasty,_  
_that looks plenty;_  
_this is hungry work._

     - Hozier, Take Me to Church

 

 

* * *

_For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them._

-       _Matthew 18:20_

* * *

 

 

Jemma settles back against Bucky’s chest as he reclines against the headboard. He presses small kisses into her neck, gently takes the shell of her ear between his teeth until she shivers, her hands searching for his. Steve watches from the other end of the bed, watches as Bucky touches Jemma with both hands, familiarity looking for the softness under her ribs, skimming over the ridge and hollow of her hip. Jemma opens her eyes, rocking back against Bucky, watches as Steve swallows thickly, his throat working.

“So,” she says, holding out her hand to him, “I was under the impression you’d be taking a more active role in this.”

Steve tilts his head, lips in a faint smile. “Only if you want.”

“I do.”

Steve strips out of his shirt and undershirt, tossing both to the floor. He bows down, pressing a kiss to the bone of her ankle, the soft inside of her knee. He stretches out flat on his front before her, encourages her to let one thigh hang over his shoulder. The other he pushes gently outward and then lifts up, lacing hers backwards over Bucky’s knee. Steve sweeps his palm over the smooth expanse of skin, first pressing kisses to her belly, the ridge of her hip, the velvety crease of her thigh. Above his head, Bucky’s arms wrap around her torso, the fingers of his flesh hand tracing very softly over one nipple. Jemma sighs and lets out a small sound, threading her fingers through Steve’s hair.

-

Steve presses soft closed-mouth kisses to her labia, beautifully flushed and glossy with her arousal. He soothes his broad palms over her trembling thighs, leaning into the slender hand that slides from his hair to cup his cheek and jaw. He kisses the inside of her wrist, looking up through his lashes at the worship that passes over Bucky’s face, the instant his mouth goes slack and his hands clench at Jemma’s sides. After a still moment, he withdraws; Jemma makes a contented sound in her throat and turns her chin up to him, not so much presenting a kiss but an open press of mouths exchanging exhausted breaths. He drags his gaze from their faces to watch the soft rush of Bucky’s come drip from Jemma’s body. Steve passes a gentle finger through their mess, licking it away before swiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “I want-” he says thickly, closing a hand on Jemma’s hip. “Can I-” he asks her, hands on her spread knees as Bucky’s flesh fingers drag so lightly over her nipples. “Jemma?”

Jemma swallows, searching out her own voice. “Yes,” she says, “yes, just,” she wiggles away from Bucky, catching both of his hands in hers, pressing chaste kisses into his palms, metal and flesh alike. The birr and click of the prosthetic, Steve has found, fascinates her in equal measure to Bucky’s freckled shoulders, his own persistently artist-calloused hands. “I want to lie down.” Her gaze flickers to Bucky, a silent complaint at having been so curled and stretched across his body.

He rolls out from underneath her, and as she settles, rolls back until pressing tightly against her side, scraping his teeth and stubble over the outside swell of her breast. “I’ll never say no to a show,” he reassures her. His hands pet her arm, belly, cheek; a single finger sweeps damp hair away from her eyes.

“There you have it,” she says to Steve, giving him permission to rearrange her limbs with satisfied lassitude. This accomplished, Steve sits back on his heels, ducking his head to fiddle with the buttons and buckle of his belt and jeans, pulling those items and his shorts down with hooked thumbs. He abandons everything to a heap just off the edge of the bed before crawling forward. Jemma stretches and sighs; Bucky slides one arm under her head, propping himself up on his elbow to watch.

“Huh,” he drawls, “that’s new.”

Jemma, without looking up, snorts indelicately into Bucky’s shoulder.

“Like you had that kind of stamina in ’43,” Steve counters in friendly rancor. Jemma has grown used to their repurposing of wounds into the insults of ancient friendship. When Steve touches her knee with hesitancy, she cranes her head up.

“Oh my,” she says, appreciative.

Steve takes himself in hand, working a few long pulls over his length, curling his wrist to sweep his thumb over the blood-flushed head of his cock. Their eyes meet as his breathing changes, exhalation stuttered and the inhalation deep and uneven. He can see the shiver of her heartbeat in the hollow of her throat, and he bows down to press a kiss there. Bucky snags him by the hair for a moment, pulling him up just to bite his way into Steve’s mouth,  sweeping his tongue around the inside ridge of Steve’s teeth before pausing. They breathe like that for a moment, Bucky with the slow intensity of post-orgasmic possessiveness, Steve in an aching anticipation. They part slowly, staring heavy-lidded at each other’s mouths.

Steve leans down, glossing his lips and the bump of his nose between Jemma’s breasts, kissing the soft underside of each before returning to the hollow of her throat, the corner of her jaw, and finally her mouth, against which he promises, “We’ll go slow,” punctuated with a tender press of lips, “I’ll be gentle.”

Jemma laces her fingers together at his nape, using his steady mass as an anchor as she rocks her hips, sliding the length of his penis between the swollen folds of her labia, teasing them both. “On the contrary,” she sighs when he meets her with equal and increasing pressure, “I’ll accept no half measures.” She shivers and draws shallow breaths as he pushes into her, short-metered thrusts working slowly.

Steve holds himself steady against the tide of heat that crawls up his back, breathes into the dip of Jemma’s collar bone. When their bodies are pressed flush together he hooks curled fingers under her soft knee, guiding the weight of her thigh up to his shoulder, feeling her muscles shift and tighten, hearing her breath catch as she murmurs encouragements into his ear and her nails press into the bulk of his arm. Bucky, pressed as tightly to her side as Steve is to the cradle of her hips, slides his hand between their bodies. Its delicate mechanisms birr and tumble, and Jemma’s head drops back as a blush flames her cheeks. Steve can feel the backs of Bucky's fingers against his own body, feels as he traces metal fingertips over her clit, pinching it gently between two digits before resuming the soothing patterns. Jemma arches her back, her breasts pressed into Steve’s chest, her whining sounds caught in the thick air of their mixed breaths.

Bucky coaxes her up to an unbearable edge before retreating, working Jemma up in ever-shortening cycles as Steve gets lost in the hot drag of their bodies, the slick sort of heaven he finds where her pleasure floods over his own.

She folds her other leg up over his hip, squeezing her calf over his ass, her heel digging into the flexing muscle of his thigh. Her back arches and falls in tandem with his thrusts, rising up to a perfect curve. Steve wraps his arms beneath her, folding her up against his body. She reaches blindly with both hands; the fingers of one find purchase on the slick-and-stick of sweaty skin over his working muscles. Her other hand wraps desperately around Bucky’s metal wrist, searching for an anchor in the sensation.

Bucky’s tireless fingers keep an ever-changing rhythm and she begs him for her release. “Bucky,” she moans his name, thick tongue catching on the heavy consonant, _“Bucky, please_.” He appeases her, and Steve watches his own expression change in awe-pleasure as he watches Jemma come, her eyes heavy-lidded and her pretty mouth slack as the intensity builds.

Steve feels it move through her body in a wave, the clenched desperation in the muscles in her calves, her shivering thighs, the flutter and seize that surrounds him proving too much. He loses his rhythm, bowing down to press his forehead to the tender, sweaty stretch across her sternum, eyes closing in rest even as his hips stutter, chasing pleasure in a final few heavy strokes. His hands wrap under the smooth blades of her shoulders to pull her more tightly against him, even as he pushes upward without restraint; his control unspooling in a heady, breathtaking rush. Steve mouths across her nipples, his orgasm bowing his body so tightly that he rears back on his knees, Jemma suspended in the cradle of his arms, lifting her clear from the bed. He knows he won’t recall whatever he’s saying, the precious nonsense praise he lays upon her, both of them caught in the stillness of the moment.

The white blur fades from the edges of his vision, his breath comes back in disordered gulps, and the muscles in his thighs and groin feel the exhilarating ache of expense. Bucky reaches with both arms to help them lie down again, consciousness returning slowly to their foggy bodies.

Jemma’s hand glides over his back; the deepest scratches already knitting back to white-pink vitality, single dried beads in scarlet an evidence of absence. He presses a hundred kisses to her chest, her throat, her closed eyelids and cheeks and she giggles at his antics.

He feels her flex around him as she shifts, dropping her leg from his shoulder to match its sister around his hip. She sighs, wiggles, and they both feel the hot, wet rush as his come sluices over his penis, still erect, and makes mess on their thighs, a musky mix of them both.

“You’re still,” she starts to ask. “Oh,” she sighs, restlessly moving beneath him. “You’re still hard.” She flexes once more with intent and groans. Steve makes an animal noise low in his throat, momentarily lost in the clutch of his own body. He begins to thrust into her again in short, erratic strokes.

“We can stop,” he says, biting his lips and propping himself up on his hands, putting some semblance of distance between their bodies. Jemma wraps her thighs more tightly around him, pulling him in with the rhythm of his thrusts and clamping her muscles, holding him deeply with the insistence of stillness.

“How,” she demands, nails in his shoulders, lips against his ear.

Steve opens his eyes and rears back to kneeling; unsupported, Jemma hangs on by her thighs. The length of her is temptation writ to Bucky – he mouths wetly at her shoulder, breast, his warm hand caught in a slow pull on his cock, half-hard. Steve places his hands on her hips in security, pulling her back into a arch so he can kiss her belly, the softness over her ribs. The great vee of her chest, from navel to collar, is the same pretty pink blush as her cheeks and sheens faintly with sweat from them both.

“Good for two,” he says, unclenching his jaw to speak. He thrusts deep and slow when Jemma relaxes her thighs, the new angle a euphoric drag.

“Fucking hell,” complains Bucky, his own hand working more insistently. Clear fluid beads at the head, and Jemma reaches, lacing her fingers with his and swiping her thumb over his glans at the peak of the upstroke. Bucky shivers and Jemma takes a deep, filling breath.

“We can stop,” Steve says again, less a token and more a genuine offering. Frustration mounts toward himself and the new body that, in some cases, is just as obstinately uncooperative as his small one had been. His heart thuds and he holds his breath to rein it back, but his wires are crossed and it makes his cock twitch, the muscles in his groin jumping and spontaneous with arousal.

“No,” says Jemma, leaning up on her elbows. She’s breathing in a hard, even rhythm and her thighs bear a steady tremor just beneath the skin. “I want to be on top,” she asks, and Steve can see her eyes are diamond-bright, like she’s running on the desperate side of not-enough-too-much, all boundaries of sensation lost except for the moan of _more_.

Steve watches her watching him, and the animal hunger wins out, hot coils of arousal climbing his belly, his spine. All sensation is heightened; the slight pressure of Jemma leaning upright makes him ache to move. By the expression that passes over her face, Steve feels certain she’s right there with him.

“Buck,” he grits, unsure of what he’s asking for.

“Yeah,” he agrees, standing. Steve is still lost, though, and Bucky has to pull him down. Jemma tightens around him with instinct, her arms secure around his neck. “Hang on to something,” Bucky advises.

“What?” asks Jemma, unprepared for the gravity when she settles across him after they roll, the weight of her own body pressing against Steve inside of her with new intensity. Her muscles tremble in response; for a moment, she buckles against his chest. Steve pets her back in sweeping strokes. “Oh,” she murmurs, cheek to skin, undulating her hips from where she is before reaching blindly backwards. “Bucky,” she calls, searching, “Bucky, here, please.”

Steve’s fingers settle in the dip of her waist as she rights herself, his thumbs bracketing under her lowest ribs, petting and squeezing over the softness of her belly. He traces smooth circles into the sweeping hollows of her hips while Bucky bites prayers into the slope of her neck, mumbles sweetness into her hair, takes the shell of her ear so gingerly between his teeth and tells her in worship she’s being so, so good.

“Right here,” says Bucky, “right here, sweetheart.” He tangles the fingers of one hand with hers, his broad chest filling the space behind her, a wall of warm support. He wraps himself around her tightly, his arms under and over the swells of her breasts, ducking his head so her cheek presses against his flesh arm. His mouth works tenderly over the muscles in her neck, but Steve can’t decipher the things he’s saying over the rush of blood in his ears. Jemma’s hands clench where laced with Bucky’s, her knuckles showing pink and yellow with strain. Her hips roll in subconscious twitches, disordered and desperate.

Steve works to control his breathing. He presses his palms over the bones of her hips, her long, smooth thighs, pulling at her bent knees so she’s seated more fully astride him. Bucky matches her height at a slouch, his wide thighs pressed against the backs of Steve’s. Bucky frees one hand and squeezes it between their bodies, out of Steve’s view.

Jemma’s expression startles. “No,” she tells him, immovable. Steve waits, watching them.

“No,” Bucky agrees, though Steve can see how the ridge of his shoulder lifts and drops, his hand still working. “Just this,” he soothes her, “is this all right? Jems?”

She sighs, leaning back into his chest. Her hair, wild and loose, clings to their sweaty skins. “Yes,” she says, rocking forward on Steve and Bucky following her. Bucky pets her, his fingers clearing her hair away from her damp neck to make space for his lips. There he drags the edge of his teeth, lips on her throat. “There, Jems,” he encourages. He rocks them three forward, Steve rocks them back, and Jemma sways between them like a siren on the crest of an ocean swell.

Her expression shifts into some kind of rapture Steve can’t name. “Oh, God,” she sighs, her vowels stretched to buckling. Steve tests the waters, thrusting enough to lift himself from the mattress. Above him Jemma bounces, gasps, freeing a hand from Bucky’s grasp to score it down Steve’s abdomen, his muscles jumping in response. She plants her palm on his chest and uses the leverage to push herself down harder, meeting his motions. She finds the friction she’s looking for, and their rhythm stutters as she finds a long and jagged release, a startled scream coinciding with her posture collapsing.

“Steve,” she whimpers against Bucky’s neck, lip caught in her own teeth. “Steve, oh, _Steve_.”

Steve thinks in deluded nonsense that he can feel her _melt_ , but there is simply too much heat to distinguish where her body borders his. Bucky’s embrace is the only thing holding her upright, and he and Steve continue to move. Steve doesn’t give her time to recover – she still flutters around his cock as he thrusts – when he slides a hand between their bodies, the pad of his thumb finding her swollen clit, rubbing ceaseless circles into the nerves. Her previous orgasm hadn’t been enough to carry him away in its tide, but the one that builds her now to screaming threatens biblical.

It’s the closest sensation to drunk he’s felt in years as Jemma shakes but refuses to desist. Even as it proves overwhelming, she’s relentless in their rhythm, turning her face into Bucky’s neck to hide, the sounds escaping her mouth anyway. Steve can scarcely catch his breath; his heart thunders in his chest. He plants his feet and presses his thumb more insistently at her clit, quivering it. The feeling of her body around him amplifies, the pressure impossible to withstand as her muscles clutch and give, clutch and give. Their flesh slaps wetly together, and Bucky, breaking from his quiet litanies of praise, groans loud enough to cover the greedy, gasping sounds coming from Jemma. His pace becomes erratic, enough to distract Steve from the knife’s edge of his impending orgasm.

“Buck,” he calls, “Bucky,” his voice wrecked.

Bucky’s back curls and his breath leaves him in a long, low sound.

“Jems,” he begs into her hair, “God, Jems.”

His come splashes, hot and slick, at the small of Jemma’s back from where he’d pressed his cock along the length of the cleft of her ass.

Bucky looks up and their gazes catch. His breath is uneven and his mouth is indecent, lips bitten red and shiny-swollen. It’s enough, there with him, with Jemma, with Jemma who holds them together. Steve’s orgasm seizes him into breathlessness, hands clawing at whosesoever’s flesh he can reach.

The feeling sweeps him, soles to crown, his spine awash in the hot sensation of release. He swallows, gulping one breath and then another; the anticipation binding his muscles  unspools. He relaxes deeply into his joints. Gently, he pulls his hand out from between his body and Jemma’s. She makes a soft, tender sound.

“Jems,” he says, tongue uncooperative. “Jemma, c’mere.” He holds his hands out to her, gently working Bucky’s embrace loose. Jemma shifts up on her knees, looking for relief, and Steve softly tells Bucky to let go.

His arm whirs to animation; Jemma has a perfect red-pink imprint under her breasts of the plates and joins where they pressed into her skin.  She swings her leg over Steve and flops forward, half atop him. They’re all a mess, but she especially; her swollen labia and inner thighs are heavily smeared with the excess of Steve’s come, and he twinges at the satisfaction it feeds in him. Instead, he wraps an arm around her shoulders, pressing gentle kisses wherever she’ll accept them.

“Oh,” she sighs, dream-like and breathy.

Bucky crawls in behind her once again, his nose pressed into the nape of her neck. “That’s it?” he complains, teasing. He wraps an arm around her waist, distance deferred.

“Standing ovation,” Jemma mumbles into Steve’s chest. “Standing later.”


End file.
